


Cold

by cathalin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/pseuds/cathalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's really cold and so they have to share body warmth okay!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Contains: references to prospective breakup of one relationship.

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Rodney sounded garden-variety-irritated, like he was dealing with a recalcitrant technological device instead of his teammate trying to surreptitiously burrow closer to his warmth. “Is it my fault you don’t have a single ounce of body fat on you?” There was a flurry of movement and a blast of chill air. “Well, come on!” Rodney patted the blanket next to him. “Much as it pains me to say it, we’ll need your, quote, expertise, to get us out of this situation, and if you freeze to death in the night we might be enjoying the hospitality of this godforsaken planet a long time.”

“Nice to know you care, McKay,” John managed, scooting closer, careful to keep his back to Rodney.

  
“Yes, well. Don’t let it go to your head,” Rodney huffed. 

John already felt less cold; he stopped shivering within a few minutes, pressed back into the pocket of heat in front of Rodney’s broad body. When he felt sleep pulling him down, he gave himself one last stern lecture.

A lecture his sleeping self obviously had listened to about as well as John ever listened to lectures: they'd somehow both turned in the night, and he woke pressed snug up against McKay’s back, arms circling him, hips fitted right up against his (John rarely admitted to himself that he knew this) heart-shaped ass.

It was kind of weird how his brain could multi-task even in a situation like this: one part of him quickly assessed their tactical situation -- he could tell it was hours later based on the dwindling moonlight coming into the cave, there didn't seem to be any signs of danger, other than the cold -- while another part of him assessed the other danger; his hardening cock up against McKay, pressed tightly enough that if Rodney woke, there'd be no way he wouldn't notice, his hands, clutched greedily in the front of McKay's jacket.

Then again, Rodney had proven himself singularly oblivious, to the point where John barely tried to hide much of anything any more unless someone with sharper eyes was around. Maybe Rodney would just think it was John's gun, or a reflex, rather than John's infuriatingly stubborn crush, or whatever it was. The crush, the thing, was stubborn beyond all reason, stubborn to the point John sometimes wanted to bash his head in, because seriously, how pathetic could you be, holding onto something like that when the object of it was basically settling down with a nice young woman.

John sighed carefully, holding his position for another moment. Most likely, given the degree of Rodney's obliviousness, even if he woke up, Rodney wouldn't notice at all. John could probably rut up against the guy and Rodney would think nothing of it. He could probably move his hand five or so inches south and cup Rodney's dick and he wouldn't notice. He could probably ease Rodney over on his side and cup his face and press his lips to Rodney's and he wouldn't care. He could probably move his other hand...

No. Stopping right there. Because John knew himself pretty well, and he could feel the first prickling of the recklessness that gripped him once in a great while, the "fuck-you" to the world that had first grabbed him when he was a kid flaunting his father's ambitions, that had dogged him throughout his career, that had culminated in his being sent to Antarctica.

Rodney wasn't John's father, and he wasn't some cowardly military officer trying to cover his ass. He was Rodney. He was his friend. His good friend, who meant a lot to him. So John was not going to let his, his, okay, his anger take over, wasn't going to give in to the now-breathless longing to shove it in Rodney's face, make him see.

"John?" Rodney's voice, a whisper. "Are you...awake?"

John froze. One of his hands was in Rodney's hair; one was twisted in the front of his jacket in a death-grip. His cock was fully hard, and his hips had been moving, gently rocking into Rodney.

He knew what to do: make a sleepy sound, maybe say a woman's name, ease back away. It would be pretty credible; no one could control their dreams. He'd done stuff like that before, stuck in close quarters with guys; you couldn't completely avoid it if you were military.

He'd done it a lot, actually; it was easy. So why wasn't he doing it now, why was his stupid brain and body choosing this moment, stuck with the Team on M3X-259 overnight in a cave, to balk, to not immediately cover, like he'd done so many times before?

If he was honest -- and why the fuck shouldn't he be at this point, he thought savagely -- he thought maybe he knew. It'd been pretty obvious for a few weeks now that things were getting serious between Rodney and Jennifer. They obviously were fucking, which -- he really didn't want to imagine, but yeah, he had. He pretty much knew how it'd go: it'd be kind of awkward and cute, and definitely sweet. Jennifer was awesome, and she was perfect for Rodney, actually; John really did want Rodney to be happy.

If Rodney and John ever did it, it'd be awkward, too, but he doubted it'd be sweet. It'd be snarky and ridiculous and probably a little intense.

"You're...John?" Rodney turned suddenly, and frigid air hit John like a blast of reality. No, he wasn't doing this, jeopardizing the most important friendship he'd had in a very long time. He could still totally salvage this.

Rodney was looking at him now -- John could see his face in the light from the setting moon -- with the expression he reserved for as-yet-unknown Ancient devices or alien tech.

John cleared his throat. "Uh." His hands were still somehow clutched in Rodney's jacket, and their socked feet were kind of...intertwined.

So he'd blown his "I'm asleep" story, but he could still use "I _was_ asleep." Only his mouth apparently wasn't working, and his hands were still grasping Rodney's jacket. The backwash of his, his -- face it, it was _anger_ \-- was still zinging through his body, and it felt like it would take more strength than he had to disentangle himself, pry his hands away.

"So you, this, is this?" Rodney's eyes were intense on John, searching. Finally, not oblivious. Finally, paying attention.

John looked at Rodney and met his eyes. And John realized, yeah, you know what, he was fucking furious. And he was sick of hiding. Damnit, this reckless anger was the same feeling he'd had when he ignored the order not to go back for his people in Afghanistan, the same feeling he'd had when he told his father he wasn't going into the family business.

"Wait, what, you're mad at me? What for, I didn't do anything, I wasn't the one who was treating my ass like his own personal--"

Rodney got it.

John saw it register in his eyes. There was total silence for a few moments. This would be a really good time for an enemy attack or an earthquake or something, John thought. The shock of Rodney knowing the truth pretty much drove the anger out all in a wave, leaving behind...John wasn't sure what was left behind.

"How long?" Rodney whispered, clutching at John's jacket just when John had finally managed to tell his own fingers to let Rodney go. "How long? And how could I not...?"

John swallowed. "A while. I'm. I'm sorry. It won't, I won't--" John started pulling away.

Rodney's hands tightened in John's jacket, yanked him back. "Idiot," he hissed. "Even geniuses need a little processing time. Just give me a few seconds to reorganize all my experiences and beliefs from the last five years." Rodney closed his eyes and got the furrow on his forehead that appeared when he was deep in thought.

Weirdly, John waited. He figured it was probably because he was so used to listening to Rodney when he got that "genius at work" command tone in his voice. Or maybe he was just tired.

Rodney's eyes sprang open. "The women, the whole Kirk thing?"

John opened his mouth to answer.

Rodney lifted his hand to snap his fingers, which was actually, despite everything, kind of funny given the gloves. "No, no, I get it, I see now. Only a couple of them for real, and those were, hmm, mainly not exactly...human."

John took a breath to say something.

Rodney nodded, short and sharp and tangled his hands tighter in John's jacket. "Okay, yes."

"Yes?" John's voice was a scraped whisper. "What the hell do you mean, yes, you can't just--"

Rodney grabbed John's head and brought it close, pressed his lips against John's, hard and demanding.

John pushed him away. "No," he whispered. "Are you insane? This isn't what you want: you want a wife, and kids, and probably a white picket fence, and maybe--oomph."

When he hadn't been paying attention, Rodney had somehow gotten some leverage, and shoved John onto his back and crawled on top of him. He wrapped his hands in John's hair and kissed him. His lips were a little chapped, and very warm, just like the rest of Rodney. His tongue was trying to get into John's mouth.

"No!" John said, pulling his face away to the side. "You can't--Jesus, no. Don't wreck what you've got going. No, I won't, you can't. It's ridiculous, and you don't feel like that about me, so--"

Rodney covered John's mouth with one hand and propped himself up on his elbows over John. He rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm a shitty boyfriend. I'm selfish and I'm old and I'm tired of working so hard to make something work."

John pushed Rodney's hand off his mouth. "Nice, McKay. You're saying you'll do this because it's less work?"

Rodney raised an eyebrow. "What, now you're getting all picky? You molest me in my sleep after being madly in, in whatever, for however long, which by the way, it hasn't escaped my notice that you've never said how long, and now you're complaining already?"

"You can't be serious," John hissed, suddenly aware of Ronon and Teyla, occupying another niche a few yards away. "You can't just, just turn on a dime like that. And I don't think you're quite getting what I'm talking about here. I'm not talking about a little kissing, I'm talking about sex. Gay sex. A lot of it, everything, and that's not all, I'm talking about being, you know, together. A _relationship_."

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Rodney said, tone mock-solicitous. He felt John's forehead ostentatiously. "Hmm, no fever. Maybe some alien has taken over your brain, though, because I think that's more talking about what you want than I've ever heard you engage in. Oh, wait, now that I think about it, I've _never_ heard you talk about what you want. Or," he narrowed his eyes at John, "or seen you _do_ anything about it, either. So, what? You were just going to be all heroically stoic and let me make a mistake like that? Be my best man and go home and cry into your beer? Because seriously, that's just, just--"

John swallowed and turned his head. His chest felt tight and he had to blink a little.

Rodney sighed. "Oh, now I've gone and--I'm really bad at this, you know that, right? Of course you do, how could you not, you've watched me--And you still..." Rodney's gloved hand pulled John's face back around, and he lowered his forehead to John's. "No, see. I actually, I really. I've wanted, but I didn't think you--And then my sister said, was all with the 'better grab it while I could.' And. You're not the only one who's wanted, well."

John sucked in a harsh breath and shuddered and Rodney breathed one out, then rubbed his hands on John's arms through his jacket. "Are you cold?"

"Yeah," John said, voice only a little scratchy. "Pretty much always." He knew he was being pathetic, but right now he just didn't care.

"Not any more," Rodney said, pulling John into a full-body embrace under their blankets. "I'm breaking up with her tomorrow. Or whatever day we manage to get off this god-forsaken planet. She'll be fine; I think she already knows it's not right for her, I'm not right for her. It's been...well, weird recently. And then I'm going to call you on that, the sex thing, because, well, for obvious reasons. And the 'relationship,' too, though I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say, that's not a word either of us want to say again, pretty much ever. And I want the friend part, too, because that's..." Rodney sucked in a big breath.

"Yeah," John managed to murmur.

Rodney cleared his throat. "And in the meantime," Rodney wrapped his legs snugly around John's and pulled him even closer, then whispered in his ear, stroking his gloved fingers over John's face like they'd been doing this a long time -- and maybe, in a way, they had -- "in the meantime, neither of us have to be cold any more. Well," he amended after a moment, "at least until the next time we get stranded in some primitive backwater where--"

"Rodneeey," John said, letting his voice fall into the drawl he sometimes affected, the one he knew made Rodney crazy. "Stop being such a pessimist."

Rodney's answering laugh did, indeed, make John feel warm.


End file.
